


Arm Candy

by songofhell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofhell/pseuds/songofhell
Summary: Dean has to pretend to be Crowley's date for a case. He had thought that was bad enough; he had no idea what he was in for when he stepped into Ms. Whitaker's house.





	Arm Candy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I'm watching season 3 of spn and there's an episode where Dean, Sam, and Belle go to some fancy party to get a dead guy's hand to salt and burn it. And there's like a ton of sexual tension between Dean and Belle well Crowley clearly belongs at a party like that so... just replace Belle with Crowley. So Crowley can tell Dean how good he looks in a suit and hitting on him the whole time.

“I hate this,” Dean muttered as he tied his bow tie.

Sam rolled his eyes from where he was sitting at the table, scrolling through some articles on his laptop. “You got a better idea?”

“Steal Crowley’s invitation and go to the party by myself?” he suggest half-heartedly.

“Yeah, because you can pass as Crowley,” Sam scoffed.

Dean sighed. “Then screw the party. We can break in and steal the cursed object after it’s over.”

The bitch face that Sam gave him over his laptop told Dean that he had already explained to him why this wasn’t a viable solution, but he hadn’t been listening. “There is going to be over a hundred people there - do you really want to risk one of them picking it up and getting themselves killed?”

He deflated. “Fine,” he grumbled, glaring at his tuxedo-clad reflection in the mirror before turning away.

“You should get going,” Sam said with a slight smirk. “I think your date’s waiting on you.”

Dean grabbed the closest thing within reach - the TV remote - and chucked it at his brother before storming from the room. 

Sure enough, Crowley was waiting outside, dressed as immaculately as always. He didn’t even try to disguise the way his eyes roamed over Dean as he approached, his gaze openly appreciative. “What do you know?” he murmured. “Take away all that flannel, and you look good enough to eat.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, the snappy remark he had been about to make dying on his lips. “Shut up,” he finally managed to mutter, fighting against the heat he could feel rising to his cheeks.

Crowley chuckled as he offered his arm. “Come along, darling. We don’t want to be late.”

Reluctantly, he took the offered arm, and a few seconds later, they were standing outside the luxurious manor house that was the current home of the cursed artifact. Dean tried to pull his arm away as they made their way up to the the man checking invitations, but Crowley held on tightly.

“Mr. Crowley, it’s good to see you,” the man greeted as Crowley handed him his invitation. “And this is…?”

“My arm candy - Dean,” Crowley said with a smirk.

The man chuckled as he handed the invitation back. “Enjoy the party.”

“I am so going to kill you,” Dean muttered as they walked into the house.

“Promises, promises.” He finally released Dean’s arm, but only to move his hand to rest on his lower back, instead.

“Stop touching me,” he ground out.

“What’s the matter? Distracted?” Crowley’s hand slipped down briefly to squeeze his ass, nearly making Dean jump. “We have to sell that we’re in a relationship,” he spoke in a low voice that only Dean would be able to hear. “So, start acting like it, would you? Or we’re going to start drawing the kind of attention we don’t want.”

Dean ground his teeth together in frustration as he forced himself to relax into Crowley’s touch. “So, where to, _honey?”_

Crowley rolled his eyes. “We mingle until we see a chance to talk to Ms. Whitaker, and then we direct the conversation to the artifact. _Subtly,_ if you can manage that.”

“This is a waste of time. We need to find the thing and destroy it.”

“Oh? And you know where it is, then, do you?” He looked up at Dean expectantly, who scowled. “Thought not. So, my plan it is, then. Would you care to dance?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m really not.” He took hold of Dean’s hand and led him out to the dance floor.

Surprisingly, Crowley was a good dancer. Dean wasn’t entirely sure why that was surprising. After all, Crowley surely attended lots of events like this; it made sense that he knew how to dance. The surprising part was really that Dean actually didn’t hate dancing with him.

“You really do look quite handsome,” Crowley said after a minute. “The tux suits you.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure no one’s listening in on us. You can drop the act.”

“Oh, I’m not acting. I told you to dress to impress, and well, color me _very_ impressed.”

His gaze shifted away. He had never done well with compliments, and that went double for compliments from the King of Hell, who was currently very much in his personal space. Thankfully, Crowley let it go.

After a few songs, he leaned in close, brushing his lips against Dean’s ear. “Whitaker’s over by the bar,” he whispered. “Shall we?”

Dean nodded, and Crowley released his hand, then guided him over to the bar by the hand that was still resting on his back. 

“Ms. Whitaker, what a pleasure to finally meet you in person,” Crowley greeted as they stepped up to an older woman with tightly curled grey hair.

Her eyes flickered over Crowley, then Dean. “And you are?”

“Mr. Crowley. And this is my husband, Dean.”

“Oh, of course. I’m glad you could make it.” She shook his hand before turning to Dean. “And it is very nice to meet you too, Dean. You have quite the husband.”

“Yeah, he’s… really something,” Dean said as he shook her hand. “He’s told me a lot about you. You have quite the collection, don’t you?”

She arched a curious eyebrow at him. “Do you have much interest in Mayan artifacts?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered immediately. “Tons. I would love to take a look at some of the stuff you’ve collected.”

“Well, several items are on display around the foyer and dining room, which you are welcome to walk around and have a look at. But I am sorry to say that my most recent acquisition only just arrived today, and it is still boxed away upstairs. It will surely be the pride of my collection, but I’m not revealing too much about it until I appraise it myself. You’ll have to come back once I put it out on display.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Thank you.”

Just then, another couple came up to talk to her, so Dean and Crowley nodded farewell, then made their way across the ballroom. 

“We need to get upstairs,” Dean muttered.

“I have an idea,” Crowley whispered back. “But you’re going to have to get more into character.”

So, a few minutes later, Crowley was facing the man guarding the stairs, and Dean was standing behind him. As his hands slid over the demon’s sides, he got the feeling that Crowley was finding far too much enjoyment in this.

“I don’t suppose there’s a room up there where we could… get some alone time?” Crowley asked.

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “No, sir.”

“I know how inappropriate it is to ask, but my husband-”

“It’s my birthday,” Dean interrupted, slurring his words slightly and shuffling closer to Crowley to press against his back. “And he insisted on dragging me to this boring party. I think he ought to make it up to me, don’t you?” He ducked his head, running his lips along Crowley’s neck. He couldn’t help but feel a hint of satisfaction at the sharp intake of breath that earned, which he was fairly certain was genuine.

“He’s had a bit to drink,” Crowley continued. “Took my eyes off him for five minutes, and he’s like this.” He sighed. “But look at him. How can I say no?”

The guard seemed a bit more hesitant as he shook his head. “I’m sorry-”

“How much?” Crowley cut him off.

He looked as though he might still refuse, but then said. “A hundred.”

Crowley nodded, then handed over the cash. “Much appreciated.”

“And don’t tell anyone I let you up.”

“Oh, of course not.” He turned and tugged on the lapel of Dean’s jacket, pulling him into an unsuspected kiss. It took everything in Dean’s power not to look completely shocked as Crowley pulled away. Instead, he merely leaned in slightly, chasing after his lips - only because he was playing his part, of course (except that he was struggling to remember the part he was supposed to be playing). “Come along, darling,” Crowley continued as he pulled him up the stairs.

“What the hell was that?” Dean demanded once they were up the stairs and a safe distance down the hall.

“You kissed me first,” he pointed out.

“On the neck! And you’re the one who told me we had to sell it - that’s all I was doing!”

“As was I. You can hardly be mad at me for the fact that you enjoyed it.”

That brought Dean to a halt. _“What?_ I didn’t-”

Crowley turned around, his eyebrows raised and his expression exasperated. “You’re not as good at concealing your emotions as you think, squirrel. But we can debate this later - I think we have a cursed object to destroy?”

“Right,” he muttered, shaking himself as he fell into step with Crowley again. “So, do we just check every room?”

“No. I can feel the energy now that we’re up here.” He abruptly turned to his left and pushed open the door to what looked like the study. Sitting on the desk was a small, sealed box. Yahtzee. Apparently, there were some benefits to working with Crowley.

“Awesome.” Dean walked past Crowley and tore open the box. The artifact inside didn’t look like much, but as soon as he laid eyes on it, he could feel it trying to draw him in. Yeah, not happening.

Crowley pulled the curse box out of his pocket and set it down on the desk, and then Dean carefully dumped the cursed artifact into it. He closed the lid of the curse box and clicked the lock shut. “Well, that’s that,” he sighed with relief. That relief vanished, though, when he heard footsteps in the hall. Shit.

He spun to face Crowley, coming up with a split-second plan that he acted on before he could talk himself out of it. He tore Crowley’s jacket off, tossing it onto the desk so that it covered the boxes, then grabbed the demon by the tie and pulled him into a heated kiss. Crowley immediately followed suit, attempting to push Dean’s jacket off as they were interrupted. 

“Hey, this is Ms. Whitaker’s study, you can’t be in here.” They broke apart to see the guard from the bottom stairs eyeing them nervously.

“Sorry,” Crowley apologized smoothly, as Dean fell back into playing the roll of the drunk, horny husband, pulling at Crowley’s tie with clumsy fingers in an attempt to get it off. He had never seen the demon in this state before - sans jacket, tie askew, shirt rumpled. It was... interesting. “We just chose a door at random.”

“Okay, well the guest room is two doors down. Please move to there - the boss is really protective of her study.”

“Of course.” He detached Dean’s hands from his tie and turned to pick up his jacket, and the curse box with it.

“I was wondering why there wasn’t a bed in here,” Dean muttered as he followed Crowley from the room, and the guard pulled the door shut behind him. “This room has a bed, right?” he glanced over his shoulder to ask the guard.

“Yes,” he sighed. He pointed at a door a little ways in front of them. “It’s that door, there. I need to get back to my post.”

“We very much appreciate your help,” Crowley said graciously as he opened the door to the guest room and tugged Dean inside. “Well, we have what we need,” he said as soon as the door was shut. “I suggest we get out of here.” He pulled on his jacket, and Dean felt a twinge of disappointment that he couldn’t quite justify. It must have shown on his face, though, because Crowley smirked. “I’m all for having sex, love, just not here. It’s best we get out of here before anyone realizes the artifact is missing.”

Dean shook his head, trying to come up with a response. “Shut up. I’m not - I don’t-”

“Don’t even try, Dean. You’re an open book.” He took a step closer to him, his eyes dancing. “And there was nothing forced about that kiss back there.”

His cheeks were bright red as he tried to find somewhere else to direct his gaze. “You’re full of shit.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “Bottle it all up. It will only be that much sweeter when you burst.”

Dean said nothing as Crowley teleported them back to the bunker. There was nothing for him to say. There was a part of him that knew Crowley was right, but he couldn’t admit that, not even to himself. So, he kept his lips pressed firmly shut as Crowley handed the curse box over to him and Sam, then disappeared. 

“So, how bad was it?” Sam asked once they were alone.

“I need a shower,” was all the said before shutting himself in the bathroom. A cold shower.


End file.
